Peeves' Promise
by Transformersfan123
Summary: Peeves Origin Story! Terrel Seabrook Peele. That was my name when I was alive. It is a name that I have not thought of in a long time. It is a name that is never spoken at Hogwarts. The staff does not know it. The students do not know it. Not even the oldest ghosts know it. If I did not know my own history, Terrel Seabrook Peele might not have even existed. But he did. I did.


After some feedback, I've decided to update this story. This used to be 'Terrel Seabrook Peele.' I hope you all enjoy it!

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Terrel Seabrook Peele. That was my name when I was alive. It is a name that I have not thought of in a long time. It is a name that is never spoken at Hogwarts. The staff do not know it. The students do not know it. Not even the oldest ghosts know it. If I did not know my own history, Terrel Seabrook Peele might not have even existed. But he did. _I _did.

But I am getting ahead of myself. I should introduce myself by the name you all know. Peeves the poltergeist. Part of me wishes that I could see the looks on your faces. But the other part of me knows better. Most people do not actually know I was alive at one point. In fact, there is a silly rumor going around that I came with the castle. Funny, right? Well, not to me. I wish I had come with the castle. It would have been better than what really happened to me.

There are many ways one becomes a poltergeist. Each way is carefully monitored by the Ministry of Magic. Each poltergeist is carefully listed with his or her 'haunting' boundaries. The more violent ones can be isolated and contained. I have heard that really hurts. Most of the poltergeists that are captured are calmed, either by the pain, a long confinement, or, in extreme cases, severe, excruciating magical correction.

I have poured over the records in the library, and I know the listed ways one becomes a poltergeist. There is but a sentence on the way I became a poltergeist. No listed names. What about me? Well, I am too old. The ministry was established hundreds of years after Hogwarts. By then, the rumor that I came with the castle was practically set in stone. And by the time the ministry came knocking on the castle doors to register all of the ghosts and poltergeists, my story, the story of Terrel Seabrook Peele had faded. There was only Peeves, the annoying, highly energetic, slightly violent poltergeist that came with the castle.

I said nothing to the Ministry officials of my true origins, and they didn't ask. They just marked down my boundaries as 'inside Hogwarts castle' and left. That is greatly underestimating my abilities. I can travel all across the school grounds, from the Forbidden Forest to the lake, and everywhere in between. But again, not a word passed my lips, and once again, no questions were asked.

I have kept the story, _my_ story, inside for so long, tumbling over and over inside my brain. I have considered many _what ifs_, too many to count. For almost a thousand years I have maintained my silence. But now, with parchment and quill in hand, I will record the full tale of exactly how Hogwarts gained a poltergeist, the rarest form of poltergeist, in my own words.

When I was alive, the world was very different. Few could read, fewer could write. It was only because my father was employed in painstakingly copying books by hand that I myself knew how to read and write. I was lucky. When I was enrolled in Hogwarts, I was one of the very, very few who was literate.

Born of a low class in a small village, I was taught my letters early on. Being one of the only lower-class boys to be able to read did not endear me to anybody. Many of the nobility looked down upon me because of it. They did not want just anybody to be able to read and write. Back then it was common knowledge that to wield a pen is power. To have a peasant boy know his letters was an outrage that could not be tolerated. And so, I was alone. I was the only boy in my family, two others having died in infancy. I had one sister that lived past three years of age.

Today, people would have called me a freak. The villagers called me a devil, and they believed I was possessed by a demon. Everybody avoided me, children and adults alike. I was different, and I was highly aware of it. It is a common tale today, that when a witch or wizard is afraid or upset, strange things happen. It was particularly bad for me, as the 'strange' things were often violent. To make a long, lonely childhood short, before I turned eleven years old, I almost killed sixteen different people (as I realized later).

When a letter arrived for me, carried in the hands of a robed wizard, shock quickly made way to ecstatic joy. I devoured the words with my eyes many times before I finally departed. The wizard explained about a magical school that I could go to. He said I could learn to control my abilities. The letter was written in beautiful letters, detailing what I would have to do. I treasured that letter until I died. And even afterwards.

My parents were keen to see me gone—one less mouth to feed—and I arrived at a magnificent castle, towering over the rolling hills and a thick, dark forest. Other children, some my age, some older, began to arrive as well. I was completely overwhelmed by the freedom with which those classmates of mine spoke of their own strange happenings. I did not know who to turn to first, who to begin with. Before I could decide, the doors of the castle opened.

Four of the most amazing people I had ever seen, or have seen since to be honest, came out, lifting their hands and welcoming us. They called us their students, and I was thrilled to be included. They told us that we were special, that we contained magic. This magic could be used as we willed, could be focused to perform things we needed. Some of the kids had parents that could do the strange things they could, and they were proud of this, chests puffed out, smirking at all of the others. They were novelties, just like I was. _Am_.

As the first week went by, all of us got to know the castle. It was less than five years old, and its winding passageways and large, ornate rooms impressed me. Each of the four, two men and two women, had what they called their 'house.' In case it is not obvious, the four witches and wizards were none other than Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. Take a moment. Let that sink in. Let my age truly hit you. I am old. Very old. Old enough to have seen the rift. Old enough to meet the founders. But _not_ old enough to have come with the castle.

Being an intelligent young lad, I was put into Ravenclaw's house. And during the first week of classes, the heads of the four houses pulled the new students away to see what wands they were drawn to. It was the first true magical tradition that I was to take part of. Nervous, yet excited, I rejoiced when it finally came to my turn.

Ravenclaw pulled me from class, and she led me out to a grove of trees of all different kinds. An old man stood there, nodding to the witch before shifting his gaze to me. There were elegantly carved tables beside him. One was full of shimmering silver unicorn hairs, another had dark red dragon heartstrings, and yet another showed fiery orange phoenix feathers.

"Now, Terrel is it?" the old man asked. When I nodded, he continued, "Hold out your hand and tell me which tree you're pulled to."

I found it to be a strange request, but I obeyed. I expected to feel something, but I got nothing. It was strange and after about three minutes, I began to feel embarrassed that nothing occurred. I put my arm down and looked up at Ravenclaw, wondering what was wrong. She was frowning, glancing from me to the old man that stood nearby. He shrugged at my House Founder, and I felt my face warming. What was wrong with me? Was I strange even amongst those like me?

Ravenclaw placed his hands on my shoulders. "My boy, didn't you feel anything?" I shook my head, and her frown only deepened.

"Trouble, Rowena?" a low voice asked, and we turned to see Slytherin walking toward us. He led another boy, Addison Jonadab, who watched me with narrowed eyes.

"Aye, Salazar," Rowena said, her tone puzzled. "The boy claims not to feel a pull."

"What's that!" he asked, breaking off from Jonadab. As he did so, the boy shot me a dark look, jealously flickering across his face. From that moment on, he loathed me for taking his attention. "What do you mean he feels no pull? Come here, boy."

My face was still hot as I approached. I was ashamed of myself, so I kept my eyes on his feet. As a peasant, it was natural to keep my gaze low. It was a sign of respect. It was a sign of my lower class. It had been bred in me from the day of my birth. And despise it though I did, I could not ignore my upbringing.

"Look up, boy!" Slytherin exclaimed. Startled, my eyes jumped to his face. He had a commanding air that was not to be ignored. He seemed to be waiting for a response, and I managed one word.

"Sir?"

"Is what Rowena said true? You feel no pull?"

"No, sir. I do not know what is supposed to happen, but nothing is 'pulling' me, as you say. Does that mean I must go home?"

By this time, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had come with other students. Two girls watched curiously, each standing beside her Head of House. There was a look exchanged between the Founders. Rowena pursed her lips then knelt down to my level.

"You feel nothing? No desire to select a particular type of wood?"

"No, madam. I do not."

"Mr. Ollivander, see if he is drawn to a core."

"Of course, madam. Come here, little boy."

I approached, my gaze on his kind face. He did not frown at my boldness. Instead, he smiled, so I smiled as well. He took my hand and led me to the tables. He took my hand, and drew it through the air above the table, over each element. Once again, I felt no pull. But there was something that I did feel.

"They vibrate, sir. As a stringed lute does," I said, my voice full of wonder.

"Vibrate!" Hufflepuff exclaimed. "My word! Rowena, my dear friend, do you know what this means?"

"Of course, Helga."

The four Founders exchanged a gleeful smile then turned to beam at me. Their eyes shown with interest and delight. Jonadab still glared at me, but the two girls were practically bouncing in place.

"Madam Hufflepuff?" the dark-haired girl burst out. "What exactly does it mean?"

The Gryffindor girl grabbed her arm and interjected, "If it is something we should be privy to, of course."

The Hufflepuff blushed deeply. "Of course, I am too hasty, madam."

"I see no reason to keep it secret. But first we must see if our theory is true," Gryffindor said. "Friend Salazar! Test the boy!"

Slytherin pulled a wand from his belt. Stepping forward, he stumbled and released it. I picked it up and handed it to him. Again, I felt the vibrations. This time they sang in my mind. I heard a dragon's song, full of the greed of gold and a burning fire, along with the whistle of wind through what I perceived to be an oak tree.

"Please, sirs, is that from a dragon?" I asked politely.

"What's that?" Gryffindor asked, his eyebrows raising. "Dragon?"

"If I may, good sirs," Ollivander said, bowing low. They nodded, and the man indicated that Slytherin should hand over his wand. He looked it up and down then leveled his gaze on me.

"What makes you think that this is from a dragon?"

"I heard him roaring, sir, and he was spitting fire."

"And do you have a tree to associate with this wand?"

Confused, I looked around at the curious faces. Oh, how I wished I was not the center of attention! But I took courage at the kind people that surrounded me and nodded.

"The wind sounds through a great oak, sir."

Slytherin laughed, a great booming noise. "Ha! Rowena, my friend! You are most lucky! He could become a wandmaker!"

"I do not understand. Please, sir, what do you mean?" I asked, tears stinging my eyes. "Is something wrong with me?"

Ollivander smiled again, patting my shoulder. "My good lad, you have identified the elements that make up this wand. Dragon's heartstring is its core and it is surrounded by solid oak. An amazing ability that few have, my boy! It is not wrong!"

I later learned that Ollivander was a wandmaker, and that I had just displayed a talent that could have led me down a path to an apprenticeship with the man. But I digress.

The wandmaker handed Slytherin's wand back to him. The man studied me.

"Brace yourself, my good lad. Just do what you feel is right," Ravenclaw said to me. Everybody else stepped back. A sense of dread filled me as the head of the serpent's house raised his wand.

With no warning, he brandished his wand and shouted, "Defend yourself boy! _Serpensortia!_"

A serpent leapt from his wand. Its slick green and red scales flashed in the sun. Stunned, I could do nothing but stare as it slithered toward me, mouth opened wide to show poisonous fangs. Everything disappeared and the snake reared. What did they expect me to do against such a deadly foe? Set it ablaze?

Before I could think of anything to do, it lunged.

The action ignited a survival instinct, and I let out a cry and pushed my hands toward it. To my great surprise, the serpent caught fire! As it writhed in the flames, I thought that it wasn't hot enough. So I made it hotter. The flames went from a dull reddish orange, to yellow, and then to white. I bared my teeth in a snarl, taking a great pleasure as the creature turned to ash.

The same sense of power that consumed me when the strange things happened at home filled my body. Just like every other time, I lost myself to it. I let the power seep out of my being, uncontrolled simply because it knew no other way.

A sharp shake to my shoulders snapped me out of the daze. Ravenclaw took my face in her hands. "That is enough, Peele. You have proven you are an Outlet."

Blinking slowly, I became aware that the fire had seeped out around my feet and had begun to consume the grass. The girls watched me, faces pale and frightened. Jonadab gaped at me. Why were they so terrified? I tried to focus back to my Head of House.

"Please madam, what is an Outlet?"

"It is a rare gift that allows the witch or wizard to do magic without a focus," Ravenclaw said. Her hands caressed my face, as delicate and gentle as my own beloved mother's.

"Focus?" I queried.

"A wand, lad. We focus our magic through them. It is then enhanced by the core, whether it be unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, or phoenix feather. An Outlet does not need a wand or any other focus."

I was sent back to my House with no wand. Those who had already received their wands, as well as the older students, asked me what core I had, which wood had called to me. Still in shock, I shook my head and held out my empty palms. The room went silent, all just as confused as I was. But their confusion didn't last long.

Jonadab and the two girls who had seen my power told everybody they met of my oddity, and soon even the Ravenclaws knew. Not one of them had ever heard of an Outlet. And that terrified them. So, just as I had been alone in my village, I was alone at school. Nobody wished to even speak with me, let alone be in the same room.

The year went by in a blur of loneliness and struggles. The Founders took special care to teach me away from the other students. I never sat in their group beside the lake, learning spells as they did. Instead, I was brought to an isolated room as they taught me how to harness my strange magic. Learning how to tap into my own core was excruciating, and I had made little progress when the schoolyear had ended.

I was sent home with strict instructions to practice. As nobody even cared that I had returned, I was left to myself. So, I did the exercises my Head of House had given to me. And when my second year began, I had a better grip on the power within me.

The second year passed much like the first. And once again, I was sent home with exercises to improve my control. Just like the first break, I taught myself, unable to take any mistake. This obsession with perfecting my power turned out to be the best decision I ever made. For when my third year came, everything stopped, including the beat of my heart.

At thirteen, I was a little taller than the average male third years. I was considered gangly, as I seemed to grow faster than my body could adjust. My powers were immense, greater than any other student in my year, and indeed, greater than even the seventh years. And as my power had grown during the break, so, too, did the fear of my classmates.

I suppose that was my downfall. Around Christmas, I was accosted by some of the older students. I could feel the vibrations of their magic, and their bodies thrummed with terror as they beat me. I didn't fight back, afraid to kill them. They knew of my revulsion to harm people, and they used it to their advantage.

When they had finished, they ran away, aware that they would be punished. Jonadab found me. He was walking alone along the lake, which was chilled from the frost. The boy had never forgiven me for taking away Slytherin's attention that day he received his wand. Seeing that I was weak, he decided to torment me. He shoved me onto the ice of the lake, taunting that I should be able to get up.

What he did not know was that the ice was very thin. I remember the sound, a _crack _as loud as thunder, and the icy grip of the water. Delirious with pain and weak with blood loss, I could not even focus enough to save myself. The cold beckoned me to sleep, and I let out the last of my breath as I fell into blackness.

What happened afterward, what death tasted like, I cannot recall. I do not remember anything for a long time. It was a mermaid who disturbed me, lifting my body up to the Founders. The sunshine streamed down upon me, warming my face. When I broke the surface of the water, I was pulled gently to shore, I heard weeping.

I will never forget the shock of Ravenclaw's face as I sat up and asked her why she was crying so. The sucking sensation tried to pull me back, but I resisted until I felt a pop, and I stood, shaking myself. The pale, terrified faces of the four Founders made me uncomfortable. They had never looked at me like that.

"Is something the matter?" I asked, brushing my hair from my face. I recall that it was damp and stuck to my head.

"My dear boy!" Gryffindor gasped. "You're still here?"

"I do not understand, sir," I said. "But is there some spell that you have cast? For 'twas Winter when I fell into the lake. And now it seems to be Summer!"

They were staring at me, their gazes dashing down to the ground at my feet before leaping to my face. I blinked and looked down then screamed and jumped aside. For there was a body, decaying and waterlogged.

"Egad!" I yelped. "Who is that poor soul! What happened!"

Their silence was thick. Even the birds did not sing. Then dear Madam Ravenclaw reached out and touched me. Her hand did not go through me, which made the next words hang even more heavily upon me.

"It is you, dear Terrel."

And with those grave words, my life, or death as it were, changed. And Hogwarts gained its first ghost, and indeed not a ghost, but a poltergeist. And that turned out to be the beginning of my tale, not the end. For here I am still, over a thousand years later. And here I will be until time itself ends. As I promised.

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Terrel Peele set aside the quill and blew gently on the ink to help it dry. He considered writing down the promise he'd made, the oath he'd taken, but then he decided against it. He didn't think it wise to tell the world what he was to Hogwarts. And if somebody found this story, it could spell trouble for the school. So he left it there, at a simple promise, though the truth was not simple at all.

The poltergeist stretched leisurely as he floated up. Glancing around, he took stock of this particular manifestation of the Room of Requirement. Stuffed to the brim with shelves and bric-a-brac, generations upon generations of hidden gems filled the room. And this was despite Harry Potter's misadventure with Fiendfyre. For Terrel had need of the room as it was, and he had easily cleared away the everlasting fire. He kept it contained in an unbreakable jar, ready for use if he needed it. And with the room free of the cursed flames, the magic of the room had gone to work to repair the damage. So, ten years later, it was good as new.

Terrel's gaze landed on the mirror across the room. He floated closer, taking in the pale, gangly boy that was reflected. His hair flowed to the middle of his back, gleaming silver. In life, the strands had been inky black, and though it had lost its color, it was still thick and shone richly in the lights. His skin wasn't quite the same shade as his hair; unlike all of the other ghosts, his natural form retained slight differences in color, so his skin tone was paler than his hair.

Unable to help himself, the poltergeist smiled. His reflected face smiled back, the lips quirking in a boyish way. Terrel took great pleasure in being in his original state, for however brief a time it was.

Tremors from the grounds sang through his consciousness, and he grinned. The students were back from summer break! Their footsteps on the stairs echoed in his mind, and he clasped his hands with joy. Time to make mischief!

He took one last look at his form, then flexed his power. Both his hair and height shrank, and his clothes became a gentleman's garb from back in the Middle Ages. When he was satisfied, Peeves swept his shorter locks into a tight hairstyle, tying it up with ease. His beady eyes now shone with a naughty gleam, his sharp features stretched into a grin of malice and glee. He spun around, to take in the changes.

For a brief moment, the poltergeist paused as sadness and regret edged into his expression. A millennia of memories filled his head, of mischiefs done and pranks pulled. He had to make mischief, though. It was his cover. He had to release his powers in some way, keep them sharp and level. Just in case he was called upon to keep his oath.

Peeves strengthened his resolve and grinned again. With a flick of his power, he hid the story in the shelves, capped the ink bottle, and settled it and the quill on a desk that was overflowing with papers. He tugged on his collar, shook his head, took a deep breath, then flew away, calling that he was coming for the 'ickle-firsties.' As he dashed down the hall, he saw himself standing in the office of the Founders, and he heard his oath.

My life be long, yet separate,  
And hide I will, and shall await,  
When in distress the school be mired,  
A time when I shall be required.

Then take in hand the school's defense,  
And I will use my ancient sense,  
Connected to these magic grounds,  
Keep them I will, for strength abounds.

In this oath I swear to keep,  
in wisdom that is broad and deep,  
And with courage both strong and true,  
This I promise that I will do.

The pure indeed, that are in heart,  
And all the rest, I will not part,  
And then until the very end,  
Good Hogwarts school I will defend.


End file.
